


i have chrysanthemums (but you love the stars)

by mattsunfairy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Angst with no happy ending, Canon Universe, Character Death, Hanahaki Disease, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), One-Sided Attraction, Post-Time Skip, Pre-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Sakusa Kiyoomi, Relationship(s), SakuAtsu Week, Swearing, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29168415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattsunfairy/pseuds/mattsunfairy
Summary: Unrequited love can be a horrible thing to suffer. It plagues your days and haunts your nights, the aching feeling of not being able to receive the same love you give is heart-wrenching. Although, the world is much more horrible and for those who fall victim to a one sided love, or unspoken love, the consequences can be dire. OR when Sakusa Kiyoomi falls in love with Miya Atsumu but the words never manage to leave his mouth. (Hanahaki Disease AU)
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	i have chrysanthemums (but you love the stars)

**Author's Note:**

> I always want to say thanks to my friends @/lacharcutiere on tumblr, and @drowninginthenile for proofreading!

Atsumu thinks flowers are beautiful. He’s seen many in his lifetime, he’s received them on Valentine’s Day from his many admirers back in high school and he’s given just as many to his mother on special occasions. 

But Atsumu also thinks Sakusa is beautiful. He thinks it’s funny, the first time he sees him he can’t help but catch his breath. It’s an odd feeling, because at sixteen he’d never found another boy pretty. He also thinks it’s funny that the boy’s surname is so close to the name Sakura, which coincidentally means cherry blossoms, flowers that bloom in spring. 

Sakusa, much like Atsumu, couldn’t really put his finger on the feeling he got when he met the blonde at the training camp. At first, he was quick to keep his distance, never really a person for social interaction. But as the days went on, it was Atsumu’s personality that would keep luring him back, though he couldn’t deny that the setter was also pretty. 

It wasn’t until the second to the last day that the ace had finally decided to let his guard slowly drop, something that only happened around his cousin. The night was cold and Sakusa had already finished with his shower. Finding himself too restless to go to sleep, he wandered around the halls, hoping it would tire him out. 

He found himself turning a corner but stopping as soon as he heard a voice--Miya Atsumu’s. The setter was slumped against the wall, humming a tune under his breath, moving his phone around in an attempt to get better reception. For such high end facilities, their cell signal could be better. Sakusa didn’t want to eavesdrop and he knew if he stood there too long, he would find himself leaning in to listen. So he did the next best thing: he turned the corner. 

“Omi-kun!” He almost dreaded hearing the voice, and looked down to Atsumu, who wore a familiar smile as he got to his feet in one swift motion. Sakusa shoved his hands in his pocket, huffing out his own version of hello. 

“Why’re ya’ out so late Omi-Omi?” His tone was always so playful, it almost drove Sakusa crazy. He grunted, scolding Atsumu to not call him by those nicknames. Not because he didn’t like it, but because he just knew his heart couldn’t handle it and the last thing he wanted was to blush in front of Miya Atsumu. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered the question, starting to walk along the hallways as he had been doing moments earlier. The blonde nodded in understanding, inviting himself to start a conversation. 

“Me neither, I was gonna call ‘Samu, see what he was up to, but the signal was shit,” he laughed. It felt like a sad excuse for small talk; there was an awkward tension between them. The two weren’t strangers but they weren’t exactly friends--more like temporary teammates who thought the other was attractive. 

Sakusa looked over to the side, watching Atsumu try to think. He had his finger to his chin and his eyes shut, brainstorming behind his eyelids. It wasn’t until a second later that he snapped his fingers, almost shouting  _ eureka _ . 

“Outside’s probably got a better reception.” He picked up the pace but didn’t go fast enough to leave Sakusa in the dust. He turned back to the other boy. “Do ya wanna come with me? Y’know, since ya can’t sleep?” 

At that moment Sakusa Kiyoomi  _ knew  _ he should’ve said no, that Miya Atsumu wasn’t worth sneaking outside for, that his cosy bed was much more appealing, but he found himself nodding, trailing behind the blonde. 

They didn’t speak to each other until they managed to walk out the glass doors. It was surprising how low security was, but who would be so concerned with two boys just going to get some fresh air? There was seemingly no harm--but it would be that conversation that would kick start their downfall. 

“Samu wanted to talk to me about this girl he likes,” Atsumu snorted, rechecking the signal, only to see a text message from his twin brother stating that she had rejected him. He couldn’t help but feel bad for his brother as he sighed and looked back up to Sakusa, who seemed different. “But I guess she doesn’t like him back.” 

It was a bit colder than expected, with the sports jackets not doing much for either of the boys and their breaths showing up in the wind. Atsumu looked to the side and saw a flower bed covered in snow, frowning and thinking of how he wished winters weren’t as cold so that the flowers could bloom all year round. 

Sakusa took a deep breath. There was a joking edge to his voice, one that was alien to hear coming from him. But how could he help it, considering he’d been hanging around Atsumu for about a week now?

“He should be careful then, he wouldn’t want to catch hanahaki disease,” he chuckled along with Atsumu. The sound of each other’s laughter was almost like music to them. 

“Ya know that stuff's all fake.” This time Atsumu’s tone was weary and it sounded as if he were trying to convince himself, although he was sure in his heart that the flower coughing illness had to be fake; a way to guilt trip couples to stay together. But as he thought about the fatal consequences… well, he didn’t even want to think about it. 

He tilted his head to the side, staring at Sakusa, who wasn’t wearing his mask like usual. He was able to see the features of his face well and subconsciously studied them. His cheekbones were sharp but not extremely pronounced, skin was much paler than his own, almost absorbing the moonlight. The two moles that were stacked on top of each other were on full display, his curly black hair pushed back and still a bit damp. 

Atsumu’s breath caught again, knowing it was rude to stare. He was conflicted nonetheless: he stared at flowers when he thought they were pretty, so why not stare at a pretty person? He didn’t get a chance to look away as he and Sakusa locked eyes. 

The ace let out a breath at the same time, the cold fog falling off his lips. He saw Atsumu’s Adam's apple bob as he gulped. Sakusa could feel his jaw slowly fall open as he ended up staring into the other boy’s chocolate eyes. 

“We should probably go back in.” Sakusa snapped his mouth closed after saying that, already pivoting to leave, the realization of how close they were finally settling in. “I don’t want to get sick.” 

It seemed to have set into Atsumu as well that he was only inches away from the other boy’s lips. Although not just any boy’s:  _ Sakusa’s  _ lips _.  _ There was another nervous feeling washing over him, rendering him speechless to the point he couldn’t even say,  _ ‘Night, Omi-kun. _

He let Sakusa walk off, standing alone in the icy weather. For Atsumu, it would be a while until he shook off their conversation; despite it being boring and mostly emotionless, it was somehow the most intimate moment he’d shared with the black haired boy. The two of them, alone together, laughing. They’d never had a moment like that before. 

He would think about it for the rest of the night, and even once the training camp was over. He wouldn’t stop thinking about it, only letting the thought of _ what if something else happened _ linger in his mind. Atsumu never made anything of it. Yes, he thought Sakusa was a beautiful man, he couldn’t stress it enough, but their little moment under the starry sky in Tokyo didn’t mean anything to him. 

The same couldn’t be said about Sakusa, though. It wouldn’t infiltrate his thoughts  _ every _ night, but during the evenings that he felt most alone, he let his mind go back to time he’d spent with Miya Atsumu. He hated that he was somehow carefree at that moment, cracking a bit of a joke, even if the joke wasn’t that funny. He couldn’t stop replaying what he could’ve done instead. Still, he would just imagine Atsumu’s smile and feel his chest swell. Was this the feeling of having a crush? 

That night a seed would be planted--not in the ground, not in some old lady’s greenhouse, but in the lungs of a certain boy, staying dormant throughout his teenage years and early adulthood, until it was reawakened by the same person who put it there. 

  
  


\--- 

At this point, Sakusa is in his twenties and he’s on his way to the V-Leagues. He knows the team he’s about to join also has Miya Atsumu on the roster and he can’t help but to think back to their shared memories at the training camp. Of course, he’d seem the setter a few times after, but now he would be surrounded by the same personality that drew him in the first time. 

It’s not until the first month into their season that Sakusa realizes there’s a problem. The team is at a bar to rewind after an intense week of training, and by force, Sakusa attends. He’s not much of a drinker, nor very social, so he finds himself mindlessly bored and in his own booth. 

He watches Atsumu sit at the bar, stirring his drink amorously. He feels his own lips twitch into a smile under the mask he wears at the sight of Atsumu laughing. The blonde’s lip wraps around the straw as he continues to chat with the bartender. 

With a closer look, though, it seems like he’s flirting with her. The way she bats her eyelashes, and pours him another drink--there’s a weird feeling in his chest, different from that heart wrenching one that was there during lonely nights. This is a feeling he can’t quite put a finger on. 

Then he feels something else. He coughs roughly, having taken off his mask in time. The cough is dry and rough and he feels as if there’s something lodged in the back of his throat. Sakusa coughs again, hoping that he isn’t coming down with a cold. At that moment, he finds that the situation he’s in is much worse. 

Laying against his handkerchief is a single red petal. His eyes widen in horor and he looks around to see if anyone else has noticed.  _ This _ is that flower-coughing disease that he and Atsumu had discussed all those years ago. He remembers Atsumu dismissing it, but the petal sitting in front of him is enough proof to know it’s real. 

Sakusa’s mind begins to race;  _ who is he unrequitedly in love with?  _ He can’t think of a single soul. It’s only until he bravely looks back up to the direction of his teammate sliding his phone number to the bartender that he feels the urge to cough once again. 

He realizes it… he’s in love with  _ Miya fucking Atsumu.  _ That can’t be, though, it  _ can’t _ . He tries to convince himself, but the itching feeling of having to cough again is strong and he can’t risk anyone seeing the flower petals leave his throat. 

The wing spiker rushes to the table where his captain and libero are sitting, visibly in a rush, and they pick up on it. They don’t ask any questions when Sakusa blurts out, “I have to go. See you at practice.” 

Sakusa swings open the door, turning the corner of the building to where his car is parked. He rips off his mask once again and clutches his throat, hacking away until more red petals fall onto the concrete. 

It feels as if everything around him is spinning; he hates the thought of being sick, hates going through the motions of coughing, and most of all, he hates that he’s fallen in love with Atsumu. 

He can’t even remember when it truly happened. Was it that one morning practice when he’d brought coffee to the team and brushed his fingers over his? Or was it when he smiled at him, calling him an “astron- _ omi _ -cal” ace? Could it even have been that Sakusa had been in love with the setter since highschool and only understood it now? 

Either way, he knows he can’t keep loving him. For the sake of his own life, he can’t even bother to look in his direction. He needs to do everything in his power to avoid any emotional interaction with Miya Atsumu. It will be a challenge, but Sakusa never backed away from one. 

Fixing his posture, he steps into his car with grace, driving off and trying to keep his mind off of the setter who is probably still getting overly friendly with the bartender. 

\--- 

“How was that set, Omi-kun?” Sakusa sneers at Atsumu’s question. The original plan to ignore him is harder than he once thought. It’s almost impossible with the way his name rolls off his tongue like that. The way he sounds so caring, so invested in making his sets even better. 

“It was fine,” he snaps back, and his teammates look at him funny. They know Sakusa can be moody and difficult some days, but this is the third day in a row that he’s found himself with an attitude. Three days earlier, before their trip to the local bar, he was in a rather good mood. 

Sakusa ignores their stares, lining back up to continue hitting. The drills tire out his body but it’s a good distraction. One hit after another, he’s able to slam the volleyball onto the court, his wrists snapping with pent up frustration. 

The routine becomes familiar: set, spike, repeat, until he feels that same itching in his throat. Sakusa abandons the hitting lines and makes his way to the bench in an inconspicuous way. He’s come to learn drinking water postpones the urge to cough up petals. 

Sakusa chugs the water, gulping down, and he can feel Atsumu looking at him. He cruses the blonde in his head and sets the water bottle down. 

Practice doesn’t go on too long after that and the team hits the changing room. The Jackals know to give Sakusa his space as he quickly changes into his casual clothes and leaves without even batting an eye at the setter. Mentally, he applauds himself for getting through the day without coughing flowers and he thinks he’s safe until his name is called out again. 

“Omi-omi, wait a minute!” He freezes in his tracks. He’s so close, he can see his car, he can feel the keys in his pocket. He was so close to getting rid of this stupid disease until Atsumu had to stop him. 

“What is it, Miya?” Sakusa wonders if being harsh to him will drive him away, which is what he wants. The other man doesn’t seem to care. He hasn’t physically stood this close to Atsumu since… well, since high school, and he can pick up on the minor details of his face. 

Atsumu’s hair should be damaged by all the dye jobs that he’s gone through and yet it looks soft to the touch. It’s also grown out a bit from highschool, and he’s finally learned to style it correctly. The small areas of baby fat that once sat on his cheeks in his teenage years have gone away, giving him a mature look, though the boyish freckles surrounding his nose and upper cheek give away that he isn’t all that mature. 

“Just wanted to check on ya’. Yer grumpier than usual.” Atsumu pokes his shoulder, causing Sakusa to flinch away. He put his hand over the spot the blonde had just touched, squinting his eyes. 

“Mind your own business,” He hisses, trying to walk away, and yet it’s almost like there’s a magnetic presence keeping him there. “It’s not any of your concern.” In reality it is, or at least, it should be Atsumu’s concern; he’s the bastard that caused this. 

Atsumu presses his lips together, looking at the ground and his eyebrows knit together. He looks like he wants to say something but he holds back. Taking into consideration his teammate’s crappy mood, he looks back up and sighs. 

“Okay,” is all he says, and he starts to walk off. Sakusa didn’t think it was going to be that easy, and all he can do is watch Atsumu jog off to strike up conversation with Hinata and Bokuto.  _ If this had been high school _ , Saksua reasons,  _ Atsumu wouldn’t have been able to understand boundaries _ . It almost hurts to see how much he’s changed. 

Who is he kidding? He sets back onto the path he started on, unlocking his car and driving off. He scowls, catching himself at the red light thinking about how Atsumu touched him. He wishes he could’ve said something to make him stay. 

His thoughts are counterintuitive to his efforts as he registers the rabbithole he’s fallen into. With a gasp for air, he hunches over the steering wheel, wheezing and choking. It feels like an eternity of coughing, but in reality it’s only a few seconds. In front of him, a full chrysanthemum sits. It’s getting worse. 

\---- 

  
  


Atsumu doesn’t think he can handle this treatment from Sakusa. He understood at first that maybe the wing spiker was going through something, but it’s been almost two weeks since he first began acting up and now it’s feeling a bit childish. 

“Omi-kun, what’s the matter with ya’? And ya’ can’t say it’s ‘none of yer business’.” Atsumu crosses his arms over his chest. Another day at practice is over, and even though it was productive, the setter is starting to miss his usual friend. 

Sakusa looks up from where he’s untying his court shoes, catching his eyes for a second before averting his gaze. Atsumu has never seen Sakusa  _ that _ frustrated. 

The black haired man doesn’t respond. He’s too concentrated on avoiding vomiting up full on flowers, but Atsumu wouldn’t know that. The setter takes a seat on the changing room bench, the other men having already gone their separate ways. He’s waiting for Sakusa to finally share his problems, but Sakusa is too stubborn for that. 

“It’s nothing you can fix, Miya.” Sakusa’s words are a bit muffled under his mask. He grabs his duffel bag and goes to storm out, but before he can open the door, Atsumu’s words stop him. He stands back up. 

“You know you can just call me Atsumu, everyone else does--” The blonde gets cut off quickly, Sakusa’s eyes narrowing in anger. 

“Well, if it hasn’t already occurred to you,  _ they’re  _ your friends. We are not friends.” It catches Atsumu off guard. Despite not being so called ‘besties’ with Sakusa, he’d assumed they had enough history to consider each other friends. He can see Sakusa’s eyes glass over for a brief moment before he continues his rant: “You’re always in my space, acting like you know me, calling me ‘ _ Omi-kun’--  _ how many times have I asked you to stop?!” 

Atsumu has never truly seen Sakusa raise his voice. Sure, he’s seen him angry and pissed off but he’s never heard him yell. His voice echoes in the locker room and Atsumu can only subconsciously take a step back. Sakusa isn’t done. 

“Honestly… you make me sick.” The words have a dual meaning to Sakusa, but to Atsumu they mean only one thing: that Sakusa Kiyoomi hates everything about him. It stings him, in all honesty, which is another weird feeling because he’s never really cared what people thought of him. It stings so badly that he’s unable to hear the cracking and hurt in Sakusa’s voice. 

“Is that all?” Atsumu asks quietly. He doesn’t have the strength to look at the ace, letting him take off. Astumu rubs his eyes, sitting on the bench and holding his head in his hands. He lets out a defeated sigh, not having the energy to get up right away. 

\--- 

The eggshell white walls of the hospital ward are all Sakusa can look at. He’d much rather be spending his day off literally anywhere else, but since the argument with Atsumu, things have been getting worse. The hardest part is that no one knows what was going on--he’s too scared to even tell his own cousin, who he considers his best friend. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi?” A nurse comes to the people sitting in the waiting area. It seemed as if he isn’t the only one with an unrequited love. He raises his hand and the nurse flashes him a friendly smile. “Right this way, Dr. Mitsumaki will be with you shortly.” 

He raises himself up from the chair and straightens out his back, doing his own walk of shame past the other patients and into the doctor’s office. It isn’t too long after he sits down on the parchment lined bed that a woman who he presumes to be Doctor Mitsumaki walks into the room. 

The white coat sits nicely on her, and she has a stethoscope around her neck like you’d see in a show. She smiles at him, her black hair in a ponytail. 

“Good morning Mr. Sakusa, I have your results here.” In her hand are the X-rays she took just about half an hour ago. She puts them up against a lightbox and Sakusa is forced to see the severity of his condition. 

His lungs are there in black and white, healthy other than the blobs of flowers littering the insides. All throughout his life he’s avoided any smoking or any unhealthy habits in order to stay in good physical condition. Who would’ve thought that a certain blonde setter would be the reason for this trouble? 

“You’ve been coughing up chrysanthemums?” she asks, peering at her notes. Sakusa responds with a small yes before she proceeds. “And how long has this been happening?” 

The volleyball player looks down at his hands, playing with his fingers like a nervous child. “This friday will be three weeks.” 

Dr. Mitsumaki hums, flipping over the chart and sitting down at her office chair. 

She swiftly turns to her computer, quickly typing in the new notes before sighing. Sakusa has already started unconsciously preparing for bad news. He clears his voice before speaking up. 

“I read online that there’s a surgery to get rid of the flowers… is that true?” Sakusa feels powerless in this moment, that his life lies in the hands of the doctor in front of him. It is a foregin feeling, to feel like he has no control. 

Dr. Mitsumaki sighs again. “There is, but unfortunately, Mr. Sakusa, it can’t help people who have been coughing chrysanthemums,” she states, looking at him with compassionate eyes. 

Sakusa had booked to see Dr. Mitsumaki a week earlier, just after his fight with Atsumu and just after things had taken a turn for the worst. She’s the best in her field, and if she says there’s no hope for the surgery, then there is nothing he can do. 

He takes a deep breath, not bothering to ask  _ why _ chrysanthemums were so incurable, only trying to get to his next topic of discussion. “I also read online that this could also be the case of unspoken love, is that true?” 

Dr. Mitsumaki presses her lips together, folding her hands over her lap. It takes a minute for her to come up with a response; she’s probably just thinking of a way to lay the facts down gently. 

“There haven’t been enough studies to prove that it is one or the other, or both. In most cases, hanahaki disease is the result of an unrequited love.” She looks down for a second, sitting up straight to suggest something else. “There’s not much we can do, Mr. Sakusa, but you could always try confessing to this person to see if it works.  _ At times _ this condition can be more physcological that anything else.” 

Sakusa doesn’t look at his doctor, instead thinking back to Atsumu. Since their argument things haven’t been the same, and it’s safe to say that Atsumu despises him; who wouldn’t after all those harsh words that he managed to spew? 

It seems cruel to walk up to him and say,  _ Yes, I was an absolute fucking asshole to you because I’m in love with you and you don’t love me back. But I’m dying on top of that so... fun, right?  _

He places his hands behind him, resting his weight on his palms, as he can’t meet the doctor’s eyes. 

“I don’t think it would work… I don’t even think  _ he  _ is into guys.” Dr. Mitsumaki frowns at the statement--there isn’t much she can do to help him any further; the only thing left is to explain the symptoms of the last stages. 

Hanahaki diseases don’t have a set time from when the first flower blooms to when the last one chokes you to death. Sakusa could walk out of the hospital and die right there on the front steps, or he might die in six months in the comfort of his own home. 

\----

The first of the two don’t happen, luckily enough for Sakusa, but that doesn’t mean life is any easier. The flowers only increase in number, slowly beginning their process of closing off his airways. At one point, when he’s rewatching one of their matches and Atsumu’s interview comes up, Sakusa feels the ragged sensation in his throat when the setter mentions ‘a special someone he’s been seeing.’ Sakusa knows he’s talking about the lady from the bar. 

That day the disease really takes a toll on him. His breathing is unbearably shallow and he can’t go five minutes without the need to cough. It pains him and he has to call in sick, missing about a week’s worth of practice. 

It doesn’t help that he wants to be on the court more than anything, that he at least wants to make amends with Atsumu before he dies, because with the way things are going, he must have already entered the last stage. Yet he remains locked away in his apartment until he thinks it’s safe enough to go back out. 

Getting back to practice is awkward enough; he can see how Atsumu’s once-blinding smile dulls at the sight of him. It pains Sakusa to see. The setter stops asking if Sakusa liked the sets he gave, stops bothering to start chit-chat after practice, and most noticeably, he’s stopped calling Sakusa  _ Omi.  _

After all that, Sakusa assumes the disease would go away. There is no reason now for him to love Atsumu, right? But it doesn’t stop; the chrysanthemums only keep coming out. With an away game just a day away, he’s thankful the club is letting him stay in his own room. He can’t risk anyone finding out about his hanahaki disease. 

“Make sure not to leave anything on the bus,” Meian instructs as they arrive at their hotel, talking to the team as if they were in grade school. Their game is tomorrow evening and there’s a large slot of free time that Sakusa doesn’t know what to do with. 

He figures it would be easiest to just stay locked away in his room; the easiest way to avoid a certain blonde. Thanks to their sponsors, they’re able to stay at the hotel for an extra night, which doesn’t really help Sakusa’s case. 

Sakusa is one of the first to leave the bus, carrying his belongings in one hand. He’s never been one to over-pack for a trip. There’s a tightening feeling in his throat and he feels a petal sitting on his tongue. He needs to get to his room. 

The check in process is easy enough; he gets the card for his room and heads to the elevator. He’s almost set, until an arm comes to stop the doors from closing right at the last minute. It’s like the world hates him; of course it  _ has _ to be Atsumu. 

He meets eyes with the setter for a second before looking away uncomfortably; this is the last situation Sakusa wants to be caught in. Atsumu leans over to press the button for the floor right above Sakusa’s. 

Atsumu clears his throat, tapping his foot and standing with his hands behind his back. Both want to say something, but as soon as the ace opens his mouth from underneath his mask, he feels flowers starting to come up. 

“I know ya don’t want to be friends, but we’re still teammates, so I don’t want things to be awkward between us.” Atsumu catches Sakusa shuffling further away from him in the corner of his eyes as he finally speaks. He can see the discomfort in Sakusa’s half-visible expression. 

Although… it isn’t for the reasons that Atsumu assumes. Sakusa feels a leaf rub against his esophagus and the need to cough has never been so strong, but he can’t let the blonde see him like that. He thinks it would be best to just not even bother to talk. Besides, they’re almost to his floor. 

“Fine. Give me the silent treatment,” Atsumu continues, but it comes out as more of a grunt. There is nothing else either party can say as the elevator doors reopen and Sakusa grabs his luggage and zooms out, leaving Atsumu behind.

He navigates through the hallways, swiping his key card as quickly as possible. Once he knows for sure that he’s in the comfort of his own hotel room, he takes off his mask, hacking up flowers. This time, it’s an array of crimson chrysanthemums and thin leaves. 

Leaves are symptoms of the last stages. Sakusa can hear Dr. Mitsumaki’s voice in his head:  _ Once leaves start to come out with the buds and petals, that’ll be a sign that you’re at the last stage. Sometimes stems can also come out. Although rare, they cause a lot of physical pain, so don’t be alarmed if it happens.  _ He also recalls her weary eyes.  _ I wish you luck, Mr. Sakusa.  _

  
  


He’ll need a lot more than luck in this case. 

It dawns on him that this will probably be the last game he’ll play, and he knows he has to make the best of it. Looking down at the ground with despair, Sakusa slowly kneels and gathers the contents that he’s just thrown up and walks over to the bathroom. 

He opens the toilet seat, tossing in the petals, buds and leaves. He sits down against the bathroom floor in defeat, watching as the result of his unrequited love flushes away and into the sewage system. 

\---

What will most likely be Sakusa’s last game ends in a flash. The team wins in straight sets, which is a cause for celebration in both Bokuto and Hinata’s books, but Sakusa notices the discouraged look on Atsumu’s face. 

“Sakusa-san, are you going to join us for drinks?” Hinata chimes on the bus on the way back. By  _ us,  _ the orange haired man is referring to himself, Bokuto and Atsumu. Sakusa gulps, tightening his fists in his jacket pocket. 

“No, I’ll pass,” he spits out, turning his watch as the city passes through the windows. The two whine a bit, calling him a buzzkill and a party pooper, among other synonyms. Still, their pleas fall on deaf ears. Sakusa isn’t going to go. 

\--- 

All the swear words in the modern dictionary aren’t enough for Sakusa at that moment. He can’t understand why his legs are moving him forward even though his brain is telling him to slow down. Is it maybe because he keeps whispering to himself that he doesn’t want to die while he lays alone in his hotel room? 

The bar that’s connected to the hotel isn’t very busy. There are the usual drunks, who are too out of it to speak properly. There are the bachelorettes who are already snickering and chatting about the strippers they’re going to bring to their hotel rooms. And, of course, there’s the Black Jackals V-League volleyball team, who sits in their own section, sending cheers for their win that day. 

Atsumu is easy to spot out of all of them; his hair makes him difficult to blend in. He’s also in the worst shape out of all of them. Sakusa stands, watching from afar, still close enough to listen. He makes a note to do something about his eavesdropping habits. 

“I just don’t feel like I did good-- that my sets  _ weren’t enough,”  _ Atsumu complains, saying things he would never admit sober. 

Bokuto pats his back, a sorry attempt to cheer him up. “Don’t be down, Tsum-Tsum, we still ended up winning.” 

To that, Atsumu only groans, burying his hands in his arms that have been holding on the table. The other men don’t really have anything else to say as they each take another shot, as if Atsumu isn’t going through a quarter-life crisis. 

_ How could they just leave him like that?  _ Sakusa condemns his teammates, seeing that the setter clearly needs some type of reassurance, though he wishes he didn’t think that, because it’s like Hinata and Bokuto can hear his thoughts. 

“Sakusa-san, you came!” At the sound of his name, Sakusa tenses up, turning his attention to them. He narrows his eyes and takes a deep breath; he won’t let any flowers crawl up his throat now. 

“I’m not here to stay,” he insists, and the two look down to the blonde and then back up to the masked man. 

“Do you think you can help Tsum-tsum back to his room?” Hinata asks, wide eyed. Bokuto insists that they aren’t done drinking, so they can’t just get up. Atsumu clearly hasn’t informed anyone else of their argument, or at least, that Sakusa screamed at him. 

Atsumu is way out of it to process what’s happening, because Sakusa reckons that if he were at least a little sober, he would refuse Sakusa’s help. He presses his lips together into a thin line. The task doesn’t need to be as difficult as he’s making it; he’ll simply leave Atsumu in his room and leave. 

“Fine.” He grimaces; he really, really, really shouldn't have agreed to it. Hinata and Bokuto help Atsumu up to his feet as he latches his arm around Sakusa’s neck, leaning onto him for support. 

Sakusa feels the familiar bubbling feeling in his chest and knows that a flower will come up, sooner than later. He manages to push through it, though, putting his own hand on Atsumu’s waist. 

The ace keeps the setter steady, making their way out of the bar. Thankfully, the elevator isn’t too far. Sakusa can hear the other man’s incoherent slurs, something about “not being a good enough player”. 

Atsumu’s a bit heavier than Sakusa expected, and he almost loses his own balance a few times. Whenever the blonde begins to stumble, he only pulls him back up, muttering,  _ we’re almost there _ . Sakusa sighs. 

After what feels like forever, they’re on their way in the elevator. He feels Atsumu curl towards him, holding him onto him tighter, whimpering into his shoulder. 

He isn’t going to blush in front of Miya Atsumu, he  _ isn’t _ going to blush in front of Miya Atsumu. He keeps repeating that to himself, but it’s inevitable at this point. At least Sakusa is spared the embarrassment of having him actually  _ see  _ the blush, let alone remember it. 

He cautiously places a hand onto his back, unable to form words in the fear of choking. Saving his breath, he figures the best he can provide is a shoulder to cry on. He rubs small circles into his back and the doors open, though they aren’t quick to leave. 

Sakusa cherishes the hug that they share, feeling his heart continue to swell--he could cry in that moment, but his head flashes back to the bartender, Atsumu’s  _ special someone.  _ He gulpes, eyes still stinging, prompting Atsumu to walk out with him. 

The taller man reaches into Atsumu’s back pocket, where he assumes his key card would be. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to give the blonde a pat down, finding the card with ease.  _ Room 586.  _

He drags the drunk setter along with him, smelling the alcohol that lingers on his breath. Sakusa can’t understand why he was so upset over the game; his sets seemed to be normal, and, like Bokuto mentioned earlier,  _ they won.  _

Sakusa swipes the card, trying to fit both their broad shoulders through the door, which isn’t as easy as it appears. Atsumu whines and groans and clutches his head, trying to lie down on his bed. The man is so blackout drunk that once his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, leaving Sakusa to watch his sleeping body. 

_ This is creepy,  _ he says to himself as he watches Atsumu’s chest rise and fall. It calls him for a brief second until the feeling is replaced with a tickling at the back of his throat. Trying not to wake Atsumu, he clears his throat, peeling off his mask and opening up his mouth. With two fingers, he carefully reaches in and pulls a fully bloomed chrysanthemum off his tongue.

Sakusa keeps his eyes on Atsumu, though, reality hitting him like a brick wall. These were the flowers of heartache; he knows the man on the bed will never be his and he’ll never have the guts to tell him. He is a fucking coward, letting himself die while watching from the distance as Atsumu loves that woman. He doesn’t know what he’s done in a past life to give himself this fate, but he’s willing to get onto his knees and beg for it to go away. Out of all the people,  _ Miya fucking Atsumu  _ is the most unatainable person he’d ever met. 

Slowly, he takes a step forward, putting the flower in his pocket. He now stands over Atsumu, smiling at his drunk expression. Life is cruel, isn’t it? He manages to scuff even closer to the edge of the bed. The blonde is lying in the center, and Sakusa can’t help himself, even if it doesn’t help soothe his condition. 

He lies down meticulously on his side to face Atsumu. His hands slide under the pillow and he feels his heart rate slowly come to a regular rhythm. He takes a deep breath, feeling himself on the verge of tears. Atsumu is asleep, he can’t see him cry. 

He’s so close, yet so far. Softly, under his breath, feeling he’s already started crying, he can’t help but to speak, despite the fact the other man can’t hear him. 

“I don’t blame you for this, Atsumu.” 

\---

Sakusa isn’t stupid. He gets up in the middle of the night and retreats back to his own room. It’s a relief that the need to cough doesn’t come back that night, although he’s sure it will only come back in a more painful way. 

And he’s right. The extra day they’re given is used up hiding away in his room, wishing he could disappear as, one by one, flowers and their leaves erupt from his throat. It’s torture. 

He looks out his window; it’s a hot night and Sakusa craves fresh air. 

_ There’s no harm in going outside.  _

He walks through the threshold of his room and waits for the elevator, thankful that he doesn't have to have another run in with Atsumu like the other day. 

The world is so peaceful at night; he could just look up and get lost in the stars. The stars also happen to be good listeners, and he knows he can sit under them and let his thoughts run wild. 

So that’s what Sakusa does. 

He finds himself on a small bench right outside the hotel. There’s a gentle breeze. It’s refreshing and he isn’t cold. He feels his burden almost lift off his shoulders, and the moon waxes in the sky. 

Sakusa’s eyes close and he puts his hand over his chest, where the root of the problem is for him--not necessarily his lungs but his heart. He feels like a coward. Maybe, just  _ maybe _ , if he’d listened to his doctor, all this pain would go away. But he’s too fucking scared. His eyes re-open when he hears footsteps. 

Atsumu stands in front of him, looking down, then to the open spot to Sakusa’s right. 

“Mind if I sit?” 

_ Yes, I do mind.  _

“No.”

Atsumu nods, taking a breath for confidence before sitting down, keeping a small distance between them. He clears his throat awkwardly. “Meian told me ya were out here. He also told me that ya helped me out when I was drunk.” 

This time, Sakusa nods. “We’re teammates, after all.” 

“Right. Teammates.” Atsumu crosses his legs under the bench, staring down at his lap, sneaking a few peaks at the ace who is so captivated by the stars, like he’s trying to distract himself. 

“Y’know…” He trails off, his eyebrows coming together. Sakusa still isn’t looking at him. “Back in college, I didn’t really pay attention, but I remember going to my philosophy class one day and my professor was talking ‘bout soulmates.” 

There’s silence from Sakusa, who doesn’t know where Atsumu is trying to lead the conversation. The setter chuckles before proceeding with his story. 

“We had this group discussion ‘bout it too. This one girl brought up this ancient Greek gibberish, something ‘bout two people being one and Zeus splittin’ ‘em up. Anyways… what this other guy said kinda stuck to me.” 

“And why are you telling me this?” Sakusa spends a second staring at him, waiting for an explanation. 

Atsumu shrugs but keeps going, “He said that maybe soulmates were made from the same stars.” Atsumu grins, tilting his head up like Sakusa’s to observe the constellations. 

For Sakusa, the moment feels too intimate for the two of them to be sharing, like he’s due to finally suffocate from the flower coughing disease any minute. He waits for a second, but nothing comes. Is it safe to keep talking? 

“So do you think you and Hoshi are soulmates?”  _ Hoshi,  _ the girl he met at the bar. 

He hates that that is the only thing he can think of. Out of all the questions in the world, Sakusa chooses to slowly doom himself. Atsumu doesn’t reply. Whether he’s thinking about the question, or if it’s supposed to be obvious, Sakusa doesn’t know. 

Atsumu hums, breaking the silence as he finally comes to his answer. “There’re a lotta stars in the universe and a whole lotta people in the world.” It isn’t a definitive yes or no, leaving Sakusa to try to come up with the meaning on his own. 

At this point, both their shoulders are touching and the space that had been left in between them has closed. Sakusa feels his breath hitch, and, as if out of nowhere, a new feeling starts to grow in his chest. It isn’t the nurturing feeling of happiness but a sharp stab to his chest. 

It feels as if something is crawling up his trachea. He knows chrysanthemums don’t have thorns, but the scraping feeling makes it seem as if they do.  _ Don’t be alarmed,  _ Doctor Mitsumaki’s voice rings through his head. But how can he  _ not _ be? 

He braces himself for the loss of air he’s about to feel, putting his hand on Atsumu’s shoulder before keeling over. “Atsumu--” a strangled plea for help leaves his lips before he begins to cough. 

“Are y’alright, Sakusa?” He puts his hand on his teammates bicep as the scene unfolds in front of his eyes. 

_ Omi,  _ Sakusa wants to scream,  _ just call me Omi, for fuck’s sake.  _ His eyes shut, and at that moment he doesn’t know if he’s going to die or not. He gasps for air between each and every cough and sees the fear in Atsumu’s chocolate eyes. 

His mouth is open, yet he can’t breathe. Sakusa falls off the bench, hacking away and gripping his throat. All he can hear is a ringing noise and Atsumu trying to figure out what’s wrong.  _ Shit, shit shit,  _ is all he makes out from the blonde as Atsumu notices the stray petals that manage to fall. 

Sakusa’s throat feels swollen and he closes his eyes. It feels like there are tiny needles ripping through his skin from the inside out. That’s the best way he can describe it. His mask is somewhere on the ground, and slowly, the stem starts to make its way out. 

Atsumu has his hand on his back, which only makes it harder for Sakusa. He doesn’t care if Miya Atsumu sees him cry any more; he just doesn’t want to die like this. Sakusa doesn’t want to die with the feeling that he wasn’t loved. He doesn’t want this to be the end but he doesn’t have any say. 

He can start to feel his eyes rolling back and his body becomes limp as it hits the floor. The last thing he loses sense of is the ability to hear. He can hear Atsumu scream, wailing at the top of his lungs, begging for someone to call an ambulance. 

“Stay with me, Omi.” He catches the use of his nickname and if he could, he would smile. 

\--- 

Atsumu used to think flowers were beautiful. He used to get them from his fangirls throughout the years. He also gave his fair share; to the various boyfriends and girlfriends he’s had throughout his life. But he regrets giving them to Sakusa Kiyoomi the most. 

Staring at his picture, he knows that flowers dim in comparison to his looks, yet there’s nothing more he can do about it. He sits in the front pews; everyone else, including his family, has gone to take a break. 

His eyes can’t help but catch the urn sitting next to the picture. 

Atsumu had insisted that there be no flowers at the funeral; it didn’t seem right. They bought them anyway. 

There’s a part of him that feels he should leave the wake, that he shouldn’t be there, and yet he can’t move, compelled to sit there and bear the weight of the reality he’s found himself in. 

Atsumu leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands. He was always told in life that he wore his heart on his sleeve, and he can’t help but sob. His body trembles, fingers shaking as he feels the tears that brush against his hands. He manages to choke out, “I’m sorry Omi.” 

He feels a hand on his shoulder and slowly turns to see Hoshi, who presses her lips together and brings herself to sit next to him. 

“I love you.” She says to reassure him. 

Atsumu swallows deeply. 

“I love you too.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed!


End file.
